


so i curse my stars for a fair game

by switchblade



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, theres like a tiny bit of angst but its not the main focus here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 05:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20303962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/switchblade/pseuds/switchblade
Summary: “You didn’t wake me up.” She explained.He quickly broke eye contact with her, and suddenly seemed very interested in a blinking light coming from somewhere in the console’s system. There was a pause. “What, do you prefer that I do?”In which Rose wakes to find that the Doctor has been working for 8 hours. She's a creature of habit, and he needs breakfast.





	so i curse my stars for a fair game

**Author's Note:**

> eyo its tenrose sappy hours

8 hours. It had been 8 entire fucking hours.

Time inside the TARDIS was almost non existent, the only real passage being the seconds between the next landing, or console malfunction, or the exhaustion driven sleep Rose seemed to always throw herself into after a particularly harrowing adventure. When she had first moved in, the old girl had generously put a clock in her rooms design, and while stumped at first Rose quickly found it helped keep her grounded a bit - gave her _something_ to reference in the vastness of timeless space. But mainly it was there just to keep track of how many seconds had passed. 3 am wasn’t real anymore. Not really.

When the Doctor told her to take a shower and get some sleep after they had narrowly escaped a swarm of armed badger like creatures on a particularly muddy planet whose name now slips by her, she couldn’t have agreed more.

She hadn’t tried to ask what he was going to do; he never sleeps.

Or, well, hardly. He’d told her this back when he was all leather jacket and big ears, and she believed him (still does, really). The only time she had ever seen him sleep was once with his new regeneration, in the library, where he’d had a book open and crashed on his face, his sonic fallen out of a limp hand as he lie on the couch. She’d stood in the doorway, smiling, and she could swear she could hear the groan of the TARDIS pick up with her chuckling as if in agreement - 900 year old Time Lord, and he couldn’t move his book out of the way before passing out.

That was besides the point.

The point _was_ that when she had gotten out of the shower, she’d slept for a solid 8 hours (or at least that’s the amount that had passed on her clock). 

One of the things that she’d learned about the Doctor over the years is that he could never sit still. Sure, he didn’t really have to sleep very often, but humans did. _Very_ often. Which left him by himself to his own devices for hours on end. When he’d first regenerated, she’d been greeted once by him waking her up 3 hours into her sleep, his loud and bouncy self, asking her if she wanted to go and visit a space market to buy her mother a present. A very tired, bedheaded, and grouchy Rose had quickly told him that if he didn’t let her sleep her discarded heel would land so far up his ass he’d be regenerating again.

He’d left her to sleep as long as she needed after that.

While she was grateful, it still meant that he spent that time by himself, which she knew he hated. So it came to no surprise that he seemed to have memorized her sleep schedule, and often arrived at her bedroom door minutes after she woke up, eager to get on with the day. Or continue it. Days didn’t really exist anymore either.

So when she woke up from this 8 hour sleep to no knocking on her door, she found it kind of odd.

She let another minute pass, watched the second hand pass on her clock. Nothing.

Scratch that, she found it kind of worrying.

With a brief, cracking stretch Rose got out of bed, grateful that the TARDIS kept her room warm. No bathrobe required. Creature of habit, Rose started to make a beeline for her dresser, but anxiety had hit her like a train - something was _wrong_. Foregoing any change of clothes or makeup like she normally would, she left her room in her sleep shorts and pink tank. 

She’d memorized the normal twists and turns of the corridors, but today the TARDIS had moved her room almost right next to the console’s. Rose’s eyebrows furrowed at this detail.

Either something was wrong, or something was _annoying_. 

The TARDIS beeped in reply as the thought crossed her mind. “Ok, so the latter then.” She muttered, voice groggy. There really was only one typical source of the poor girl’s annoyance, and as Rose entered the console room she crossed her arms and shifted onto her left foot. Annoyance found.

“Doctor, have you been working on her for 8 hours?”

She heard a bang from under the grating, and a smile spread across her face as a string of curses followed. Not too long after, the upper half of the Doctor showed himself from just next to the core, and as Rose looked at him she realized something. He still hadn’t fucking changed his clothes.

Before he could open his mouth to reply to her, she held out one hand to stop him and pinched the bridge of her nose with the other. “Are you seriously, _seriously_, still wearing that muddy coat?” His left hand rose to scratch the back of his neck, “Well-“

She pursed her lips for a moment, then interrupted. “You realize we’re going to have to wash those clothes back at home right? No throwing shit in the back of your wardrobe, no matter how endless it is.” She said, not bothering to restrain her smile as she walked forward. “I’m not losing my sweater to that sea.”

She sent a mentally apology to the TARDIS for the half insult.

“Of course.” The Doctor began, his eyes darting to the wires beneath them as he shimmied his way out of the hole in the grate, sitting on the rim. Rose sat down opposite of him and rested her face in her hands.

“8 hours?”

“Got distracted. The main circuit wires had gotten tangled and somehow some side manipulators had fused to the center core. Took some time to separate.”

“Mmm, very technical yeah?”

“Oh yes, plenty of jiggery pokery.”

Rose let out a laugh and ran her fingers through her hair, which she now realized was still a bedhead mop. “Mind you, if I’d known you were just being nerdy again I would’ve actually gotten dressed.” She said absentmindedly, staring down at the blues and greens and blinking lights of the TARDIS’ mechanics below. She pried her fingers out of her hair with a small hiss.

She looked over at the Doctor to see him staring at her, puzzled.

“You didn’t wake me up.” She explained.

He quickly broke eye contact with her, and suddenly seemed very interested in a blinking light coming from somewhere in the console’s system. There was a pause.

“What, do you prefer that I do?”

Rose hummed, low, the remaining bits of sleep in her brain lagging her thoughts behind. “You’re like a talkative alarm clock.” She said with a chuckle, “I don’t mind.”

The Doctor looked back up at her. “Noted.” 

Suddenly remembering a point she had, she held a hand out towards him. “Gimme. Your coat needs to go in the wash pile with everything else that planet ruined.” He blinked, and said nothing. Odd. That’s twice now that his never ending talking stopped.

He was again very interested in the wires once more as he shrugged off his outer jacket, leaving him with his 3 remaining layers. “Yes sir.” He replied, a faint trace of sarcasm. She rolled her eyes.

Standing up, she cracked her still sleep-stiff neck and turned her heel, making her way back to her room, her bare footsteps echoing as she left. Luckily, the TARDIS hadn’t moved her room back, and she balled up the large coat and threw it into the ever growing dirty pile she kept in the back corner.

—-

“Hey, Mr. Oncoming Storm.” 

The Doctor peered back up from the hole in the grating, his eyebrows furrowed at her blatant sarcasm. Any response he might’ve had was cast aside as she tossed a thermos towards him. He only just freed his hands from the wiring in time to catch it, and he scoffed, “Rose, what-“

“You have to have _something_. It’s breakfast.”

She had what seemed to be a sandwich in her left hand, and she went to sit down on the jumpseat. She still hadn’t gotten dressed, but her bedhead hair had begun to flatten itself out. She brought her knees to her chest and bit into her food, looking over at him. He wanted to reply, say that he really didn’t need to eat - or drink in this case - and the faster he got repairs done the faster he could bring them someplace new.

But he couldn’t. She sat there, her eyes finally fully awake, looking around the room. She looked contempt, but then she waved her hair out of her face before saying, “God, you don’t have a brush on hand do you?” Then took another bite of her sandwich. He shrugged, “You took my coat.” She her face scrunched in confusion, and she finished her chewing before asking, “We’re gonna gonna have to empty that thing out before washing it, yeah?” He didn’t answer her, but he gave her a smile.

She scowled and continued with her sandwich.

He took that time to hop out of the grating and open the thermos; of course she’d made tea. He walked over and sat down beside her, and she rested her chin on her knees. He took a sip from the container, and she turned to look at him, smiling. “One sugar, right?” He nodded, “Good memory.” She didn’t respond farther than keeping her smile, then looked back at the core column in the center of the room.

The hum of the TARDIS masked the awkward silence.

It got like this sometimes. They’d talk and make jokes, laughing and poking fun at each other, but the silence that followed was always on edge. They could practically see the other’s mind racing alongside their own. The Doctor became aware of exactly how close Rose was sitting next to him and her elbow bump his ribs as she adjusted herself, her thigh pressing against his.

It was strange. That was the most clinical way he could think to put it, and he was very good at that. Strange in the way that he wasn’t really used to regenerating and immediately feeling but nothing but glee. It was strange in the way that no matter what the circumstances were, or where they happened to be, he really couldn’t bring himself to say no to whatever Rose was asking of him. Sure, he could argue the point, but in the end he always gave in. Strange and clinical. No saying no to breakfast. Or giving her his coat. Or taking a break.

But he didn’t like clinical. Not with her.

His instinctive need to categorize and compartmentalize every thought and feeling under their separate logical reasoning flew out the window with her. He used to be able to separate why he thought or felt the things he did. Certain genes, past influences, you name it. But anytime he found her with her hair tied into a loose bun, or when she chewed out someone fighting against them, or the soft way she spoke to those afraid, or hurt, or vulnerable, or the way she’d wear dresses that frilled out when she spun, or when she and the TARDIS laughed at something stupid he’d done, or the way she always seemed to know what to say whenever something brought up his past trauma, or-

Well, he could categorize it into one thing he supposes. He’s an idiot.

And here she was, still dressed in sleepwear with her hair knotted up in the back, clumped bits of mascara surviving past her shower, chipped paint nails wrapping around her knees, and all he could think about was of how beautiful she looked.

That was the thing too - she always looked beautiful. Even if the planet they’d gone too ruined their clothes, or enraged them with mindless killing, all she had to do was look at him and he’d forget his topic of conversation. 

Yeah, he was an idiot. And idiot with hearts formed from kissing her, and a regeneration that seemed designed to have her inevitable departure break him the most. 

He snapped out of his thoughts. He’d thought about that too often, of the day she’d finally leave him. It physically hurt if he was being honest with himself. 

But they sat here now, her sandwich done and the tea she made him resting in his hands. Completely quiet. 

He’d take these awkward silences and the blatant fact that he could never tell her what he thought about her if it meant the universe would let him keep it. 

The silence was broken for only a moment by the sound of her shifting, then he felt her head rest against his arm. He briefly remembered their adventure with the Goddess Fortuna statue, but he shoved it out of his mind. He couldn’t bear the thought that he’d let himself go, he’d kissed her - no matter how chaste it was - and the way she’d beamed at him. How something inside him felt like he’d been waiting for that specifically. Her reaction to him kissing her.

But they’d already patched that broken boundary.

He’d spent his one moment of judgement lapse. There wasn’t any way he’d let himself tilt his head and kiss the top of her own right now.

Not even though she’d absentmindedly grabbed his hand and was rubbing the back of it with her thumb.

The silence continued.

She turned to take the thermos from his other hand, mumbling about how “If you’re not gonna drink it, then I will.” And he let her.

If the universe wanted her to leave, he’d decided that they’d have to rip them apart. And thankfully, he has a very strong grip.

Chuckling to himself at his own mental quip, Rose looked up at him. “Whatcha laughin’ about?” She said, her tone accusatory but her face breaking out into a wide grin. “Oh, nothing. Just smart person stuff.” He replied, waving his hand dismissively. “Doubt it.” She shot back, then took her hand and wrapped it in his, curling back into his side.

It’s with a stifled yawn that she says, “Wake me up when you’re working. I wanna keep you company.” 

He swallowed, unable to hold back his own grin.

“You know I can’t say no to you.”


End file.
